


Since Forever

by arjd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:18:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arjd/pseuds/arjd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville is in hospital. Luna comes to visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Since Forever

He remembered seeing the Death Eater laughing as he flung curses from across the room.

Neville had been part of a team of Aurors cleaning up the relics of Voldemort’s power. He had already died once, and risen; there were those who believed he would rise once again. Most of them were lunatics — a select few were truly dangerous. Neville had dismissed this man as the former when he saw him: glassy eyes, a vacant stare, dishevelled and unkempt. The Death Eater had shown up in Diagon Alley looking for pieces of Voldemort’s robe (there was a roaring trade in pieces of robe, splinters of the wand, Nagini’s teeth, etc., that could not be suppressed by the Ministry, no matter how hard they tried), and Neville, along with his partner, had been dispatched to arrest him after he had been reported.

From there, it got a little hazy. All Neville remembered was the fantastic brightness of the spell hitting him in the face, and then he was here, wherever here was. The darkness was everything, and Neville couldn’t open his eyes; there seemed to be some kind of bandage around them. He waited. He heard people breathing around him; one man (he thought it was a man) snored loudly. He supposed he would be in St. Mungo’s if he had been injured. Hopefully they would do their work and he would be out by the end of the day. He wanted to know if they had captured the culprit. Neville would never underestimate anyone again.

Time passed; he wasn’t sure how long. He heard witches and wizards speaking to one another, but nobody spoke to him for what seemed like forever. And then a kind woman’s voice — someone familiar — spoke.

“Mr. Longbottom. I see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, thank you. What happened? Did we get him? Why is there a bandage on my face? Will I be here long?” Neville threw question after question at the woman tending to his wounds.

The witch – he didn’t know her after all – didn’t respond immediately. “I’m... not sure what happened in the incident that brought you here, so I couldn’t say, I’m afraid. What we do know is that you were hit by a particularly nasty hex, and it has left you blind. We won’t know if there are any other effects of the spell until we do a few more tests, so we’d like for you to stay here for now.”

“Blind!” Neville’s mind went blank. She hadn’t said “temporarily blind”, or “blind for now”. But maybe she was being conservative. “For how long?”

“We... don’t know if we can reverse the effect. We probably can’t. But we have our very best Healers on your team, Mr. Longbottom.”

Neville realised she was probably very young. He didn’t really care. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW? WILL I SEE AGAIN, OR NOT?” Neville’s arms thrashed; he thumped the bed in anger, and the edge of his hand caught the corner of a table next to him. The whole ward had gone very quiet.

“I don’t... I can’t... I... No. You probably won’t... ever see again.” The witch hesitated in between her words. Neville heard the kindness in her voice but he didn’t respond.

Neville went very quiet. _What a waste of time,_ he thought. _Six months of Auror training, and just another six on the job before I royally screwed up._ He realised he would never be able to tend his greenhouse alone again. He would never see his parents’ faces. It wasn’t just his sight that had been taken from him. It was his career, his hobby, his family. He turned his face away from her, an indication that the conversation was over. He didn’t want to speak to anyone.

“I’m so sorry.” He heard footsteps recede.  
* * *  
He had visitors. Most of them he didn’t bother speaking to. He couldn’t stop thinking about his plants, in his greenhouse at home, the little roof terrace above his modest flat. They would need looking after. He would never see his parents again. He would never see her face. They told him the man had been arrested. That he would be going to Azkaban. But it didn’t matter, not anymore. How could he cast spells without seeing his target? His wand, they told him, lay on his bedside table. He hadn’t touched it. Magic was gone from his grasp.

And then she came.

“Hello, Neville. How are you?”

He turned his head towards her voice. He had missed her so much. He had been here a week, but it had been months since he saw her last. _Saw._ How ironic. He couldn’t even remember what she had looked like the last time. How she had worn her hair. How she had smiled.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I’ve been away in Europe. There was a report of a horde of moon frogs infesting a hedgerow in southern Bulgaria, so Dad sent me to investigate. I write articles for _The Quibbler_ now, you know.”

Neville did know. He’d read all of her articles.

“Luna...” he said.

“Oh good, you are awake. I was beginning to think I’d bored you to sleep. Have they told you when you can go home? I’ve been to your house already. It was a frightful mess. I watered the plants in your greenhouse, but you have a wrackspurt infestation that needed to be dealt with. I wore your earmuffs so they didn’t fuzz my brain, though.”

Neville smiled; those earmuffs were there to be worn when dealing with his Mandrakes. They’d probably be dead by now, poor little blighters. The thought erased the smile from his face. Just another metaphor for his old life: dead and gone.  
* * *  
She visited him almost every day from then on. Neville had no idea why; she was young, beautiful (unless something drastic had happened in the months of absence) and single, and it was _summer_. All the Healers were talking about the glorious weather outside; so why did she want to spend her days stuck in a hospital talking to a blind man?

She took him to see his parents.

"You may think they can't hear you, Neville, but I believe they can. Come on, you visit every Thursday; they'll be waiting. Let’s go now." Her voice was gently persuasive.

He got out of bed, wobbly and unstable, never really trusting the floor. She placed her small hand in his - how delicate it is, he thought, and realised he had never touched her before, not intentionally anyway. She walked by his side and told him when to step for the stairs, but he never felt patronised.

She guided him to the chair in between his parents’ beds, her fingers squeezed his, and he heard her walk away.

"Mum... Dad," he said, "help me... They say I'm blind for good. I don't know what to do. Everything I am... Everything I was, depended on my eyes." He wished he could cry, but whatever happened to his eyes had blocked his tear ducts too. He emitted a few dry sobs even so. "I'm sorry," he said to his mum and dad. "I don't mean to upset you."

He pulled himself together. "Luna has brought me here today. You'd like her, I think..." I hope.

When he was finished talking he promised to return next week, stood up, and turned toward the door. A moment later Luna's hand was back in his without saying a word and she led him back to his own room.  
* * *

Slowly, he allowed people back into his life. He apologised for his behaviour. Hermione still sounded worried, and promised that she was doing all she could to find a cure.

"Thank you, Hermione, but you don't have to. I know you're brilliant, but I'm alright like this…I’ve accepted it. You have your life to live, so don't waste time on me.”

Harry asked if he would be returning to work at the Ministry. “I don’t think so, mate,” said Neville quietly. “I’m not much use as an Auror if I can’t see the enemy, am I?”

“Sorry,” said Harry. “Stupid question.”  
* * *

Luna brought him a flower from his greenhouse the next day. She placed it in his hand and he knew straight away it was dittany from the smell, the shape and texture of the leaves, the slight stickiness of the stem.

"Don't worry, I made sure there were no wrackspurts on it," said Luna.

Neville appreciated her concern; it comforted him, even if he did think that the whole notion of wrackspurts was silly. He hoped she knew how glad he was that she cared about him, and his “Thank you,” was heartfelt despite his cynicism. "How is the infestation coming, anyway?" he asked.

Luna sniffed. "Not well."

"Be careful in that greenhouse, Luna. Some of the plants in there are quite dangerous, you know."

"I know," she said, and the dreamy tone was lost from her voice. "I did pay attention in Herbology."

Neville smiled; she seemed to have that effect on him. “I suppose you did, being in Ravenclaw, and all.” She didn’t say anything. “Luna, why did you choose dittany?”

“I like the smell,” she said vaguely. Neville sighed. He had hoped, just a small hope based in idiocy no doubt, but he had hoped that she had known the healing properties of the plant and chosen it because... because... He was an idiot.  
* * *

Luna was the one to bring him home - it only seemed natural, since she had visited him so often.

"Welcome home, Neville!" she exclaimed as he heard the door open. "I'm so glad they couldn't sense any other effects from the spell." She sounded nervous for some reason, he noticed.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. I was just wondering if you'd mind if I stayed the night, that's all. I haven't had a chance to see how the wrackspurts behave at night yet."

"That's fine by me. I'll take the sofa - it folds out into a bed, y'see." He explained how to convert it; he didn’t quite trust himself to do it yet.

"No, it's easier for me to get into the greenhouse from the lounge. Besides, you've been away for months - you should get to sleep in your own bed."

Neville lay in bed that night and wondered what his life would be like if Luna wasn't in it - and then he realised that he didn’t want to think about it. He wondered what she thought of him and supposed she must find him at least tolerable to visit so often. He wished - not for the first time - that he could read her in some way; it was so difficult without seeing her facial expressions. How did she feel about him? He turned over in bed and sighed. She probably just felt sorry for him. He was deluding himself.  
* * *

She never really left after that first night. Every week or so she stopped by the offices of _The Quibbler_ to submit an article (she was still writing about the wrackspurts, apparently, as her efforts to exterminate them had been unsuccessful to date - although what those efforts were Neville had no clue) and went to her own house from time to time to pick up some fresh clothes, but for all intents and purposes she and Neville lived together.

He had heard the stories, of course. Blind people developed super-hearing. Deaf people acquired legendary sight. But really, it was more than that. It was like his hearing had not only advanced, but it was also as though he had some sixth sense and he could feel the way the air currents flew in the room. Neville knew exactly where Luna was in the house without seeing her; he knew her scent, although she wore no perfume, and he couldn't put a name to it if he tried (although soil, grass, lemon, and some indefinable, delicious “girl” scent may come close); he knew her mood just by the way she breathed, and if the house was quiet enough he could hear her breathing from across the hall.

One night they were sitting in the living room, Luna read aloud to Neville, stopping every so often to yawn. He knew he should’ve gone to bed so that she could get some sleep, but he was enjoying her company and the sound of her voice too much to suggest it himself. She made the decision for him a short time later.

"That's the end of the chapter now. Are you tired?" Luna asked.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Neville responded nonchalantly. He didn’t want the night to end but he couldn’t keep demanding so much of her.

"Goodnight, Neville. Do you need anything before we go to bed?"

He sensed her standing just in front of him. He reached out, laid a hand on her arm.

"Luna..."

"Yes?"

"Would you mind if you slept in my bed tonight? With me, I mean? No funny business, I promise." He can hear the hope, verging on desperation, in his voice.

"I’d like that.” Neville only realised he had been holding his breath when he let it out.

Afterwards, they got changed into pyjamas and brushed their teeth. Neville faced away from Luna while she changed, although he wasn’t not sure it had much point; it just seemed the right thing to do.

He swallowed at the thought of Luna undressed; it was so quiet in the room every little noise seemed to echo. He got into the bed with a squeaking of springs, and pulled the covers up to his chest. He felt her get in next to him, felt the weight next to him, and her radiating warmth next to his skin.

They both lay on their backs, awkwardly, not touching, not speaking.

Then Luna's hand moved and found his as it had done so often before. He was always amazed at the delicacy of her fingers and wrists. He wished he could see how beautiful they were. He turned onto his side and placed his head on her chest and wrapped his arm over her stomach. He felt her intake of breath, and then she rested her hand on his head. They stayed that way for hours.  
* * *

Their first kiss was during the week after they first shared a bed (they had shared it every night since, barely touching, never talking). It was awkward, gentle, stilted, and perfect. Neville was in the greenhouse, enjoying the varied scents of flowers, shrubs and soil, when Luna brought him a cutting of a shrub, as she so often did.

"I'm planting this over in the corner by the geraniums; there's an empty space there that looks so lonely. What do you think?" Luna asked.

Neville sniffed it appreciatively. "I think it'll be perfect." He reached up to cup her face, almost on a whim. Her long hair tickled the back of his hand; she was wearing it loose that day. She leaned down. Their lips met, parted, came back together, and then she was sitting across his lap, her hands in his hair, he didn’t mind the soil on them. Neville always liked soil. He liked Luna even more.

She had learned to declare her intentions with her hands, and he had learned her signals so they had almost no need for verbal communication for days at a time. She stroked his cheek before a kiss, and then placed a hand on his shoulder; a touch on the small of his back declared ownership; a hand trailed down his chest could only mean it was time to go to bed.

She brought him alive in the fiercest of ways. The sensations he was used to experiencing before Luna paled in comparison to her. Her touches, kisses, caresses, ignited his very soul. And although, to be honest, he had expected her dreamy, blasé character to be persistent in the bedroom, he was more than happy to have been wrong.

When they first showed up at the Potters’ for tea together, hand in hand, as they always had been (Luna Apparated them there whenever they were invited, which was about once a week), nobody commented on it. But after a while, when they hadn’t ceased touching, Ginny spoke up.

“So you finally realised, then, Neville?” He could hear a genuine smile in her voice.

He sputtered. “What – what do you mean, _I realised?_ ”

“Why do you think I came to see you in hospital, Neville?” Luna asked.

“I don’t know...” he said. “I thought you felt sorry for me.”

“No,” she said. He was sure he had a confused look on his face that indicated the question: since when? “Ever since... since forever,” she answered the unspoken question; she had learned to read his facial expressions just as well as he’d learned to recognise the tone of her voice, the subtle utterances in her touches.

“Since forever for me, too,” he murmured. He squeezed her hand gently, and she squeezed it back.


End file.
